


Don't Dim the Lights

by rosegoldthread



Series: Uncommon Divinity [2]
Category: NCT (Band), WAYV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, And Hendery is a devotee who gets more than what he bargained for, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Desperation, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Ten is a god of desire...just to clarify, kinda? but framed differently, um...think ancient revels at the beginning but more restrained cuz the author is a coward, with intricate(?) descriptions and feelings stuffed between the lines, wow this is all just sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-18 12:34:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21660898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosegoldthread/pseuds/rosegoldthread
Summary: Sometimes you seek desire. Other times, desire seeks you. And what an honor it is to be sought by desire.
Relationships: Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten/Wong Kun Hang | Hendery
Series: Uncommon Divinity [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1473899
Comments: 7
Kudos: 83





	Don't Dim the Lights

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Back on my self-indulgent Tendery bs with this one. This is part of a series but you don't have to read the first part to understand this, as there are only brief references to the first part anyway. Please forgive any mistakes, as this isn't beta-read (sorry in advance???)  
> This is just filth dressed in bare-minimum plot--if it were a person it'd be arrested for public indecency.  
> ~Enjoy!

There are people all around him. Warm, writhing, welcoming. 

There are hands on his skin, fingers tangling in his hair. Their touches are gentle, reverent as they caress the contour of his cheeks, the expanse of his neck. He feels trembling hands tracing paths of heat along the delicate musculature of his back, along the smooth plane of his abdomen. 

It's so warm, so _hot_ , a direct contrast to the cool marble under his bare feet. There's a buzzing beneath his skin, pulsing and fast to match the rhythm of the music swelling around them. The scent of incense lays heavy in his nostrils, and it gives the deep impression of worship, of adoration in the midst of the rising tide of pleasure. His mind is hazy with it, and he can vaguely remember stumbling upon this place, like a man drawn to an oasis in the harsh aridity of the desert. All it took was a simple invitation. 

_Would you like to join us, Kunhang?_

Hendery doesn't ask how they know his name, he simply accepts, because there's something about the look of contentment on their faces that convinces him that this is where he wants to be. 

He also accepts because he knows that Ten is here. He can feel his presence in his bones, in the air, in the warm press of mostly bare bodies against his. But he's content to wait for him, to enjoy the soft caresses of those around him, to caress them in return. There are so many people, so much to see and hear and feel. Heated skin under his own hesitant fingertips, the gleam of sweat that shines under the twinkling lights.

There's a niggling thought in the deepest recesses of his mind, unreachable and easy to ignore until it seeps into his consciousness, insidious and sharp at the same time.

A thought born from time on his knees, hands clasped in prayer under the light beaming through stained glass, swirling colors a direct contrast to the dull brown of worn, wooden pews. 

_Raw pleasure. Sins of the flesh. Lust. The seeds of darkness that will grow and dominate and take over the pure light inside-_

But it isn't dark here. Hendery finds that he doesn't want to remain in the dark, so he steps into the light. He allows the bright, pulsing pleasure to seep into his skin until he's glowing with it. Until he's luminous. A stray hand brushes against his rosy lips, and he can hear the distinct proclamation of _"pretty"_ that escapes the other person's mouth like a gasp. Heated whispers of _gorgeous, soft, beautiful_ against the shell of his ear. Hendery finds himself smiling, drunk on the praise.

"You'd think that it was you they came to worship."

The voice is familiar, sharp enough to cut through the haze over his mind as he looks up. There's a low murmur through the crowd at the sight of him, swelling until it swallows the sound of the music.

Ten is here. _The Bountiful. Patron of Dreams. Granter of Fertility. Light of Spring. Lord of Desire._

The sight of him alone is breathtaking. Honeyed skin barely covered in delicate, diaphanous fabric. Bright smile like a blinding splash of alabaster.

"And why would they worship me, when you exist?" It's bold, playful.

Ten's smile grows impossibly brighter as his brows raise, incredulous.

"That's a splendid question. Why don't we ask them?" He looks around the room, then back at the hands that still trail over Hendery's body, as if they can't help themselves. His face is clouded with mirth though, and he seems amused. Confident enough in the devotion of his supplicants to simply laugh at the way they obsess over Hendery as if he's divine.

There's laughter around the room, murmurs of "have you seen him, lord?" and "we couldn't resist". Hendery feels warm, still smiling amid the sea of beautiful bodies, and Ten's gaze grows sharper. He traces the lines of Hendery's body with his eyes, burning as he follows the path of the deep flush in his skin from his face to his chest. Then his gaze is locked on Hendery's rosy lips and the long, raven strands that stick to his face with sweat.

There's something about monopolizing the focus of the god of desire that makes him bolder, teasing as he trails a hand along his own heated skin. Ten looks entranced by the movement, then ravenous at the sight of him touching his nipples, at the sight of his lips as they part around a shaky exhale. His hands wander lower and lower until they reach the loose fabric around his hips. He stops, aching at the promise of laying himself bare for Ten.

But Hendery is mercurial, vacillating between lustful and playful. He craves Ten's touch, but as the music intensifies he can't help the way that his body moves, the subtle sway of his hips to the throbbing rhythm. The others are dancing too, and he can't resist the smile that graces his face as he throws his head back, surrendering himself to the tempo.

He feels a sudden chill at the loss of all the hands on his body, only to be replaced by the searing heat of Ten's palms against his sweat-slick skin. 

"And who are you, to tease the god of desire like this?"

Hendery can't help the laughter that bubbles up in his throat, escaping into the warm air before it's swallowed by the music.

"Who am I, indeed." It's Ten's turn to laugh at that, chest vibrating against Hendery's back as he buries the laughter in the skin of his nape.

There's no doubt that Ten has sought his company tonight. He's in Ten's temple because Ten desires him. Sometimes you seek desire. Other times, desire seeks you. And what an honor it is to be sought by desire. It's a heady thought, and it bolsters him as he sloughs off his usual shyness, replacing it with surging confidence that burns him slowly from the inside.

It's that confidence that has him dancing against Ten, just as sinful and slow as the yearning that pervades his entire being. Ten indulges him, hands gripping his slim waist as the movement of his hips gradually devolves into something less than subtle. The movement of his hands against his own chest lacks subtlety as well, and he gasps as his palms press lower, past Ten's hold on his waist, towards the edge of the thin fabric clinging to his hips. He's suddenly desperate to relieve the ache between his legs, but Ten stops him with a stern hand.

"Not here. You'll start a frenzy," he whispers, breath fanning against the shell of Hendery's ear.

Indeed, there are already eyes on them, burning with their intensity. They keep their distance out of respect, out of devotion to Ten. But it would only take the slightest provocation for them to snap. Hendery understands this, of course, but he still feels a whine crawl out of his throat, tainting the air with a taste of his desperation. 

Ten chuckles at the high sound, then "Or I could fuck you here, in front of them. Let them admire the way I take you." Hendery moans at the crudeness of his words, and the idea has him hot all over. But he turns around in Ten's hold to face him, and somehow he summons the words to reply with.

"Maybe another time. Tonight, I only want your eyes to see the way I break apart for you." 

His words are met with a sharp intake of breath and an increase in the pressure of Ten's fingers on his waist that's bound to leave bruises. He swears he can see his own hunger reflected in the umber depths of Ten's eyes. There's a moment where everything around them fades away, where his vision tunnels so that Ten is the only source of light at the end. Then, the moment breaks as Ten takes his hand and begins to lead him away from the sweet chaos.

People part for them like the Red Sea, and they leave longing in their wake, hands reaching out for them like leaves unfurling towards the sun. 

//

Ten guides him towards a set of stairs, through a narrow hallway that leads to an opulent room that's soaked in calm. He can still hear the steady flow of the music downstairs, but it's muffled here, nothing close to the steady _thud, thud, thud_ of his heart.

He's still high on adoration, intoxicated with praise and the lingering sensation of touches laced with longing. It makes him confident, maybe even a little demanding as he reaches for Ten. He demands a kiss, and Ten indulges him by embedding a thousand promises with each swipe of his tongue, with each press of their lips. Ten's harsh grip on his waist is offset by soft kisses, a barely-there pressure of teeth against Hendery's bottom lip that has him keening.

"What do you want, Kunhang?" 

The question is familiar, and Hendery's answer hasn't changed since the last time he heard it.

"I want you," he replies. 

He isn't sure if the answer will ever change. He doesn’t know if he'll ever grow tired of devoting himself so wholeheartedly to desire like this.

He emphasizes the desire by falling to his knees. Hendery pushes the sheer material of Ten's lilac robe aside to get to his cock. Soft fingers lace through his inky hair as he gives the head a tentative lick, acclimating himself to Ten's taste. Ten is endlessly patient as he takes his time to savor the weight against his tongue, the smooth, wet slide of him in his mouth as he slowly bobs his head. Hendery increases the pace once he's familiarized himself with the feeling of Ten in his mouth. He enjoys the groan Ten lets out as he takes him in further, swallowing around him as his hand twists around the base. 

"Your _mouth_ , Kunhang." And Hendery knows that he's good at this, intimately. He doesn't need Ten to elaborate any further.  
After all, he's always worshipped best on his knees.

At moments like these, he remembers learning that getting on his knees for someone like this is degrading. But there's power here, just as real and raw as the ache in his knees. He feels it course through him, spurring him on as he lavishes Ten's cock with wet, hot attention. He feels it when Ten tosses his head back, feels it when he exhales an unsteady breath that morphs into a moan when Hendery increases the suction around him. The understanding that he increases his influence over Ten with each swipe of his tongue has him burning up.

His vision blurs with unshed tears when he dares to take him in as deeply as possible, relaxing his throat to accommodate the intrusion as much as he can, until they roll down his cheeks when he closes his eyes. Ten reaches down to caress his face, rubbing at the swell of himself in Hendery's mouth with a palm against his cheek.  
He moans unabashedly so that Ten can feel the vibration of his contentment with his cock and with the hand plastered to Hendery's tear-stained face.

Ten pulls out to smear himself over Hendery's lips, and he looks up to present a pretty picture so that the wetness on his mouth looks like a gloss of Ten's own design.

"Fuck," Ten groans out as he looks down at Hendery, at his pretty face tainted with yearning, at his long eyelashes clumped together with the wetness of his tears.

"What do you want, my pretty Kunhang?" 

It's the same question as before, but Hendery knows that he's asking for something specific this time. A general answer won't suffice. So he licks his lips before answering, relishing in the way that Ten's sharp gaze hones in on the swift movement of his tongue. 

"I want to ride you." 

Ten is silent for a bit, just looking at him as he kneels before him, and Hendery wonders if he'll have to beg. He isn't above it, by any means. He can be nervous, sure, but he's never been afraid to plead for what he wants.

"You'd beg for me?" Ten asks.

Hendery leans into the feeling of Ten's palm against his left cheek and tries not to laugh at the absurdity of the question.

"Of course I'd beg," he responds simply, like a patellar reflex.

"As if you'd need to." A soft caress to his right cheek now.

"As if I'd ever refuse you anything." Fingers gently remove the long fringe of hair from his face.

There are questions, just at the tip of his tongue, but Ten swallows them in a kiss when he gets to his feet on wobbly legs. He's drowning, but he finds that he enjoys this particular kind of suffocation, this particular type of pain. The way that Ten fills his lungs as if he's a proper substitute for the air he needs so badly. Maybe he is.

He doesn't even get the chance to ask _why? Why me?_ before he's on the bed, legs bare and spread like the rest of him. He figures that the _why_ isn't that important, especially not with the way Ten looks like he's ready to devour him, prepared to swallow him whole. Hendery spreads his legs wider in an invitation, with something akin to surrender. _I'm yours, so take me._

And Ten does. Hendery surrenders to fate, to the feeling of dissolving like an uncoated pill under the press of Ten's lips against his heated skin. His hands are everywhere as if he's just as hungry to touch as Hendery is to be touched. Desire clashes with desire and they're almost equal, almost made whole by their longing for what is right in front of them. Hendery loosens his lips as Ten tightens his grip on his thighs, as he marks him up with sharp teeth before soothing the sting with the plush press of his lips. 

_"Ten."_

It isn't a request for anything, not really. In fact, Hendery doesn't know why he says it so fervently, with such reverence that it stops Ten in his tracks like a heartfelt prayer is working its way into his skull. Ten cocks his head to the side, as though he's listening to something, and Hendery shakes his head because he can't even find the words to express himself. Not in the way he wants. So he just says his name a few more times; _Ten, Ten, Ten._

It isn't his real name, but Hendery says it with such fervency that it becomes real, remodeled by the emotions infused into that single syllable. _Ten._ Hendery knows him as Ten, so at that moment that is who he is, remade in the image Hendery casts for him. 

And it's okay that he isn't eloquent, because Ten doesn't require elaborate words from Hendery. He only requires every part of him, the very essence of what makes him _Kunhang_ given up to him in the most sincere show of worship he's had in ages. 

When Ten moves up to kiss him he can see it, the longing in his eyes. He knows what Ten wants from him, and he isn't afraid to give it up, because he wants the same thing in return. 

When he has the chance he breathes out the words because he wants the god to know that they're on the same page, that his sacrifice is by no means selfless.

"I'm just as selfish as the one I bow the knee to." 

Ten doesn't laugh because it isn't funny, and that's fine. 

"You understand what you're asking for? Gods aren't keen on being held in the grasp of mortals," he replies, eyes searching Hendery's face for something.

He must find it because he continues, "But you've managed to trap me nonetheless." 

So they remain trapped in each other, so close that there's no space between them, so close that their chests rise and fall in tandem. Hendery thinks it would be stifling if he didn't feel so complete, so whole.

The stillness is welcomed, but desire can be just as sharp and insistent as it is slow, and Hendery is aching at this point.

"Ten, please," he emphasizes the request with a sharp roll of his hips that aligns their erections, and their twin moans break the still quiet in the room with the force of brick against glass. 

The shattered atmosphere seems to spur Ten to action, and he moves down, down, down, kissing every inch of skin he can along the way. He's taking his time, kissing along the smooth plane of Hendery's stomach, along the small scars and bruises that mar his otherwise perfect skin. Proof of life, struggle, pain and the slow drag of healing in each mark on his skin. 

"Even your blemishes are beautiful." 

Hendery wishes that the lights weren't so bright, because Ten can see every inch of him. And the way that he's handling him is too close to what he's always wanted. He thinks of asking Ten to hurry, to take him hard and fast, because maybe that way he'll survive this. But Ten is intent on lavishing every part of him with attention.

There's the scar that he got from jamming his leg onto a broken piece of tile when he was a child. A smattering of fading marks over his knees from passionate games of soccer in middle school. A recent bruise from banging his hip against the marble kitchen counter in his apartment the other day. Ten kisses them all, soaks them in praise until Hendery is glowing with it.

_Beautiful. Gorgeous. The prettiest._ Hendery burns brighter with each word.

"Praise looks good on your skin, Kunhang," Ten says as he presses another kiss to his inner thigh. He's molten at this point, completely boneless as his cock sort of twitches helplessly, neglected but throbbing with each word of praise that leaves Ten's lips.

He's familiar with the language of worship, has been a devotee for a long time. But he's never stopped to think about what it means to be laid bare in front of another, to have them praise every single aspect of you under the soft glare of overhead lights. He feels powerful, yes, but he's so vulnerable under Ten's gaze, as he glimpses him in his rawest form and bathes him with honeyed words until he's gleaming with the adoration. All the gods are rough-hewn stone, jagged and unpolished until they're refined by worship, shaped by the insistent press of praise against their raw forms. And that's exactly how Hendery feels, rough around the edges, jagged and messy until Ten shapes him with each whispered word of admiration. 

He wonders if he's as greedy as the gods too, or if it's the other way around as he pleads, "More, Ten." He adds a _please_ like an afterthought, hastily tacked onto the end of what sounds like a command because he's respectful to the end of his days.

"Anything for my pretty Kunhang." 

The words are accompanied by the snap of a bottle being opened, and Hendery is so strung out already that he jolts when Ten presses a finger to his hole. He forces himself to relax as Ten presses into him with one finger.

"Such a good boy for me, Kunhang."

Two fingers, a motion like opening and closing scissors.

"You're taking my fingers so well, Kunhang."

Three fingers, a fullness that has him groaning against his fist.

"Perfect, you look so perfect stretched around my fingers."

A yelp escapes his lips when Ten brushes up against his prostate, applying pressure briefly before relenting, just as Hendery's body attempts to lift off the mattress in a perfect arch.

He teases him like that, enjoying the creeping delirium that overtakes his devotee as he falls apart. Hendery fucks himself on Ten's fingers, mouth slack with sounds that he can't even summon the will to be embarrassed about. Not when Ten brushes over his prostate sporadically, refusing to give him the pressure he wants until he's biting back a sob.

"Oh baby, I'd tell you not to cry, but you look perfect doing that too." 

The praise does something to his brain, something to his insides. He doesn't believe in miracles, but it's a miracle that he doesn't come fueled by Ten's words alone. 

Hendery sort of whines when Ten pulls his fingers out, but it's unnecessary because they'll be replaced soon enough. He thinks that Ten will take him like this, splayed out on his back and open for him. Or perhaps he'll get him to turn around and fuck him into the unyielding mattress like he's a bitch in heat. The image has his cock twitching valiantly, too close to the edge yet again. But Ten moves to lay on the other side of the bed, fisting his cock with more lube, the action filled with such bravado that it makes his mouth water.

"You wanted to ride me, no?"

He's so gone that he's already forgotten the request he made while he still had a modicum of control. But after taking a steadying breath he moves, wobbling slightly as he settles into Ten's lap, placing his hands on the god's chest for balance. He isn't really in the condition to be riding anything, with how wrecked he is already, but Ten looks amused, and Hendery entertains the dangerous thought of wiping the amusement from his perfect face. 

He leans forward for a quick kiss before Ten helps him line himself up, seeking distraction from the pain as he sinks lower and lower onto his cock. Hendery's chest sort of heaves with the effort, because even with the prep he's tight, and at the moment Ten's cock feels like more of an intrusion than the fullness he craves so much. 

"I need you to relax for me Kunhang, you're already doing so well." 

He reaches down to circle a finger around his stretched rim. It doesn't really help at first, but the finger highlights how stretched he already is, and the image of himself taking so much already has him groaning, sinking down some more as he seeks to be filled to the brim. He stills once Ten bottoms out, and he may be out of breath, but he's also delighted that the look of amusement has long since disappeared from Ten's face. 

He moves a little, just to test out the waters, a small shift of his hips that confirms that this is exactly what he's been craving since he stepped into the temple. His movements become bolder, harsher as he lifts himself up slow and drops down fast. Ten lets him control the pace, allows him to throw his head back as he fucks himself however he wants.

"You like that, don't you? Like having a god under you?" 

He moans in confirmation, because as devoted as he is he loves this. Loves using Ten's dick for his own pleasure. He's sure that any other god would punish his insolence, but Ten just fuels his fire. And he's so beautiful under him, flawless in ways that Hendery can't even summon in his most vivid dreams. He runs his fingers over the expanse of his chest, trails them along his shoulders reverently. He can't resist leaning over to nip at his skin, leaving Hendery-Esque marks in his wake that he soothes with his lips and tongue.

His movements stutter as he tries to concentrate on too many things at once. The pretty curve of Ten's lips. The gorgeous slope of his nose. He's beautiful, just as he's always been. The books could never do him justice.

"So good, fuck, _Ten_ ," he says his name like a prayer again, and Ten has no choice but to answer with a deft roll of his hips. He hits Hendery's spot perfectly like that, and his speech is cut off by moans that are just as effective at conveying how he feels with Ten's cock inside him.

With that, he relinquishes control to Ten easily, but he feels the scales balancing out between them. Suddenly the power he holds over the god underneath him frightens him, just a bit. Because his submission is a power of its own, and he watches as Ten melts with it, molten as they move together. When he speaks up it takes Hendery by surprise. 

"You've ruined me just as much as I've ruined you. We're damned together now," Ten's voice is so soft that he nearly misses it, but he doesn't miss the apologetic look on his face, even as he slowly thrusts into him with his feet planted against the mattress. 

It's true, that they've spoiled each other for anyone else. There's a possibility that no one will ever worship Ten as wholeheartedly as Hendery, and no one will ever make Hendery feel like this, like reality is nothing but a faraway dream that can't touch him, all its limitations locked away in his subconscious so that he's unhindered as he takes flight. As he soars.

Ten's features are contrite, and he looks like he's asking for forgiveness even as they hurtle headfirst into fate. This entire arrangement is tender, vulnerable. Fleeting. Because those who dare to dance with gods will grow weary in time, no matter how sweet the song. There's the certainty that Hendery's limbs will grow weak, and his ears will no longer pick up the subtle tune. Will Ten love him until he's dust? Until he's another memory buried in the cavernous depths of his heart? That is not as certain.

But they're both stubborn, greedy, selfish. Absolutely enamored. It was a doomed fate from the moment Hendery knelt before him in the brothel. They won't let each other go, and it's obvious in the way that Ten grips his hips so tight, in the way that Hendery doesn't stutter in his movements.

"If this is what it means to be ruined, then ruin me more, Ten. Wreck me."

He's taken by surprise as Ten slips out of him, as he's repositioned with strong hands until he's flat on his back. But his legs open up without him thinking about it, and they are just reflections of each other, hunger mirroring hunger. Ten sinks into him again, groaning at the slickness and the heat just as Hendery groans at the fullness. 

Ten tries to move slowly in spite of the hunger, like a starving man attempting to savor his first meal in days. It's so good, so achingly good, but Hendery is only human. He doesn't dare touch himself, for fear of releasing too soon, but he can't stay suspended in pleasure forever. Things have to peak, crest before he tumbles over the edge. He can feel it in his gut already, even as Ten presses a sweet kiss to the sharp line of his jaw.

He finds his lips again, just to drink up the sounds that fall from Hendery's mouth as he grinds into him at a treacle-like pace. Hendery wants to scream at him, to thrash and yell, but he feels so full, and each thrust makes him burn slowly. He feels like a dying ember revived by a gentle breath; fanning his flame despite the knowledge that it'll never be enough. He'll burn out anyway.

"Ten?" He feels delirious with the heat, and his own voice sounds wrecked even to his own ears.

"Yes, my Kunhang?" 

"Fuck me, Ten. Harder." He whispers it as if it will take away from the severity of the command. It doesn't, and he knows that Ten hears the demand in his voice. Most importantly, he knows that Ten won't refuse him. Not when he's so pliant under him, raven locks plastered to his face with sweat, dick so hard it looks painful.

So Ten fucks him, hard and fast. All Hendery knows is skin against skin, the sound they make when they meet in the middle, two sides of the same desperate coin. 

"What is my name, Kunhang?" The question comes out of the blue, and Hendery can barely hear it over the roaring in his ears.

"Wha-" he doesn't get it, fucked senseless as he is, but Ten repeats the question against his lips.

"My name, baby, what is it?" 

Again, he's confused. He's been saying Ten's name all night, but he still looks expectant, as though he wants Hendery to remember something. It makes him groan in frustration because really Ten shouldn't expect him to be able to _think_ right now. What's the point of being fucked senseless if you have to actually think? But he tries his best, thinking until he remembers the card from their first meeting.

_"Chittaphon."_

He's sure that he gets the pronunciation right when Ten's hips stutter, when he gasps against his lips. Then it's a continuous litany of his name falling from Hendery's mouth, like the sweetest hymn.

_Chittaphon. Chittaphon. Chittaphon._

It's an acknowledgment of his true nature, like calling forth a god from the grave of neglect. 

"That's it, baby." He's so close he can almost taste his release, but he can’t help but think that Ten giving up his name like this is satisfying. Sacred. Stupid. 

Like handing over the keys to a home and trusting the other person to take care of its contents instead of robbing you blind. And it still baffles him. He finds himself confused at it, even as Ten fucks into him with enough force to knock every thought from his head. They've been vulnerable before, but names hold a different kind of power. A different kind of covenant. But Ten trusted him enough after their first meeting to leave it on a card, and he trusts him enough now to get him to say it out loud.

"Why would you-" the words are caught in his throat, but he's determined.

He tries again. "Why would you- trust me with this? I could hurt you. Bind you. You'd never escape," he breathes. His voice is so wrecked that he doubts that Ten can even decipher the words.

But he understands. Of course, he does.

"Why would you need to bind me, Kunhang? I'm already yours." Stated so simply like it's nothing when it is in fact everything. 

Ten doesn't give him any time to think about it any further, as he reaches a hand between them to stroke Hendery once, twice, three times.

"Will you come for me, Kunhang?"

Hendery answers by bowing his back and spilling onto his stomach. He comes and comes and comes, painting the smooth plane of his abdomen with sticky white. Ten's claim on him, the heat, the grip around his cock, the words of praise; they all blur together and his vision sort of whites out with the dizzying force of them combined. He doesn't know if he's breathing properly, but he makes a valiant effort, chest heaving as he measures his breaths. 

Ten tumbles over the edge right after him, with Hendery's name on his lips like a tender prayer. The kind offered up by a desperate farmer in need of rain, on their last thread of hope. Something soft, a last-ditch attempt to convince the gods to open up the locked vault of the sky and impregnate the earth with driving rain. 

_"Kunhang."_

The lights in the room are so bright that he can see every inch of Ten's face, the way it contorts with pleasure as if he's drowning in it, helpless as he's pulled in with the tide.

Hendery is tangled in the dance. Devotee and divine, divine and devotee. They're so intertwined that he isn't sure where one ends and the other begins. Ouroboros eating its tail, wholeness found in the act of devouring. A new beginning found at the end of an age. 

He's still catching his breath, still catching up in general when Ten presses a sweet kiss to his cheek. Another to the corner of his mouth. Then one more to his forehead, which he imagines can't be all that pleasant, with how sweaty he is. They make no move to separate, just embracing each other and the stillness that surrounds them.

He runs his fingers through Ten's sweat-damp hair, just because he can. But he feels like he's grasping at straws, because now that they're sated, hunger abated, he doesn't know exactly where he stands. Hendery commits all of Ten's perfect features to his flawed memory for safekeeping. A backup. _Just in case._

He pulls out of him and when Hendery winces he rubs at his stomach, as though he's comforting a cat. Hendery will never admit how much he likes it, especially not when he can feel Ten's cum leaking out of him as he clenches around nothing.

"You worry too much, Kunhang," Ten says, voice softer than the hand suddenly caressing Hendery's face. 

It's such a strange thing, Hendery thinks, to be admired by a god. How much is just a passing fancy, or thrill at the promise of novelty? How much interest will be lost once Hendery isn't shiny and new, sensitive and shivering with each touch like a leaf under a stiff breeze? He thinks some things are best left unasked, for his own sanity.

"Will you stay?" he hates asking it, wants to stuff the words right back into his mouth as soon as they escape. _Gods aren't keen on being held in the grasp of mortals._

"Of course I'll stay," he says, a million promises wrapped in four simple words. 

And Hendery's breath catches in his throat. Just like that, he's as helpless as a dragonfly trapped in tree resin, suspended in Ten's desire for the rest of his days. There's no point in struggling as he's fossilized, preserved in something hard and endless and honey-yellow, like amber.

Because Ten's desire for him is both a promise and a sentence, a gift and a punishment. He'll never be the same again, not after the first time and certainly not after this. He'd be angry at Ten's selfishness, at his willingness to taint his wretched mortality with a fleeting taste of the divine, if he wasn't so fucking hungry. If he hadn't already established that he's just as selfish.

He realizes that he's destined to sink in amber depths, and no complaint leaves his lips as Ten sinks with him.

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it to the end of this, thank you so much for reading!  
> I was melting into a puddle constantly in the process of writing this, but I soldiered on cuz I haven't seen anything like this for Tendery and we love a pioneer, right???
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it!! Please let me know if you did cuz I was super nervous about posting this feverish nonsense like wow.  
> Also pls don't laugh at me (or do laugh, idk) but I literally snatched the "uncoated pill" metaphor from that one post on tumblr jahshd my mind could never, so gotta give credit where it's due.


End file.
